Hell is a Rest Stop in Iowa
by QuMerc
Summary: On the lonely road sometimes you need a break, but do you ever really get one? Story set during season 1. Co-written with Tate.
1. Chapter 1

Author(s): Mercury & Tate

Rating: PG-13 to be safe.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke and The CW network. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: On the lonely road sometimes you need a break, but do you ever really get one?

Notes: Tate and I wrote this story quite awhile back. We've decided to post it here. Please drop us a line and let us know what you think. Also, the story is complete and chapters will be posted once a week. Thanks!

Big thanks to kgstor for the beta. Awesome job, thanks!

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Chapter 1

Sam leaned his head back against the tile and closed his eyes. The steady drip of the faucet gave him a focus, something other than the pain in his chest and the cold concrete floor beneath him. Drip. Drip. Drip. It came from just off to his right. For more than a minute it lulled him into a near stupor. That was until an intake of breath spiked the pain up a notch. He bit his lip so he wouldn't cry out.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice made him wince as it echoed loudly around the enclosed space.

His own was a mere whisper. "Yeah, Dean."

"Stay awake." Dean was using his 'that's an order' voice. Their father's voice.

Sam cracked his eyes open, shifting his focus toward his brother who was standing beside the doorway. Dean gripped a shotgun in both hands, and Sam knew nothing was getting past him without a fight. "Just resting my eyes," Sam told him.

"Sure you are." Dean spared him a worried glance and nodded to the floor beside him. "I need you ready, remember?"

Sam felt for the second shotgun that Dean had put there, blood stained fingers closing around steel. _Who would have thought that gripping cold metal would be comforting,_ Sam thought. _Only in the Winchester family_. At the same time, he wondered if he'd have the strength to even raise it if he needed to.

"You with me, Sammy?"

For his brother's sake, the younger Winchester quipped, "It's Sam."

Dean half-grinned. "Whatever, geek." His attention turned back to the entryway.

Sam's pretense faded when his brother looked away. He closed his eyes again, succumbing to the exhaustion he felt tugging insistently at him. Staying awake was more than a chore; it was nearly impossible. But he had to, if they were going to make it out of this, he had to stay conscious. He had to be ready. When Dean said move, he would get up and move.

And suddenly, the drip of the faucet was gone. Replaced by darkness and silence. And Sam knew he was almost out. Knew that his consciousness was fading. With a monumental effort, he jerked himself awake. His cry of pain echoed in his own ears. It startled himself and his brother apparently, because when Sam opened his eyes, Dean was leaning over him. Dean, with small cuts marring his face. Dean with worried eyes. He'd never admit it, but Sam knew that what Dean saw scared him. It was a six-inch piece of metal protruding from his brother's chest.

"Hey, Sam." Dean tried to sound casual, but Sam heard the fear in his voice, as he checked his wound.

If the warmth sliding down Sam's chest was any indication, he was bleeding again. Damn. And that meant . . . sure enough, Dean was standing up and yanking more paper towels out of the dispenser. Dean knelt again, amid a scattering of already discarded and red-tinged towels, and carefully pressed the new ones around the metal. Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the pain, his fingers tensing around the shotgun as if it were some sort of lifeline.

"Sorry," Dean grimaced, "but we can't have you bleeding out in this shit hole of a restroom now, can we?"

"This _women's _restroom," Sam reminded him.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, well, I can't help that it was closer than the guys', now, can I?"

"You weren't hoping there'd be a girl in here you could conveniently 'save'?" His words were strained, but Dean played along like a good brother, even though they both knew the rest stop had been closed.

"Hey, I'm offended," Dean retorted. "Just because--" His reply was abruptly cut off when the lights began to flicker. "Shit," Dean muttered. "Hold this."

Sam put his hand over the towels pressed to his chest.

"And be ready."

Sam's other hand was still gripping the shotgun, though how he was going to lift it was anyone's guess. Before he knew it, Dean was already standing in front of him. Gun up and pointed at the doorway. Damn these rest stops without actual doors -- just hallways leading into the darkness beyond. Into the night where the spirit waited.

And then the lights flickered out.

"Dammit," he heard his brother mutter.

A phantom wind whipped around the restroom. Ripping up to a gale almost instantly. The sound of glass breaking as the row of high windows shattered above them. The loud clink of metal on concrete and water gushing into the pitch black room. Sam cringed as the ice cold spray hit him. His body tensed, the metal in his chest scraping against bone. It was agony, but Sam knew they had to make a move now. He dropped the towels and tried to stand. And sure enough, he felt his brother at his side. "Come on, Sammy, were goin'." In the dark, his brother somehow managed to get a shoulder under his arm and lift him off the floor. With a grunt of pain, Sam came up still holding the shotgun limply at his side. He might need it later.

Beside him he could almost make out Dean's profile from the moonlight coming in through the broken windows above. The room became frigidly cold. And then, Dean became suddenly, eerily clear as they were both enveloped in a white glow that emanated from the doorway.

Sam turned his head to see the ghostly figure of their attacker standing there. And he said it without having to, and maybe just to hear something other than the pounding of his heart in his ears. "It's here." His words came out in a white mist of breath, followed closely with an exclamation of surprise. "What the--?!"

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Tune in next week...Comments welcome! 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in part 1

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Chapter 2

TWO DAYS EARLIER...

_"My lifestyle determines my deathstyle!"_ James Hetfield's voice growled from the Impala's speakers. Metallica was always his outlet when he was in a funk and he'd been in one for the last few days. Ever since Sam had snatched the car keys away from him. It didn't matter that a hunt for a demon in upstate New York had ended almost a week ago and he'd recovered from injuries he'd sustained in the fight. No. All it had taken was for Sam to see him limp from the hotel room to the car and Dean had been relegated to the passenger seat. But this was three, going on four days ago and he was really itching to get back behind the wheel of his car. The next stop they made he swore to himself he was going to take up the driving. He wouldn't give into Sam's puppy dog eyes again. Until then, he'd just lose himself in the music. It always had a way of releasing his tension.

_"Keep searching, keep on searching. This search goes on, this search goes on."_ Dean sang along, eyes narrowing as the lyrics finally penetrated his brain. Oh, yeah, if his life had a soundtrack this song would definitely be on it. He glanced at his brother in the driver's seat. Not just his soundtrack, either.

Okay, so maybe he needed to change the tape. He didn't have time for any self-analyzing bullshit. With a jab of his finger, he ejected the tape and tossed it into the backseat. It wasn't one of Met's better albums anyway.

Dean shifted in his seat to stare out his window. When, after a few miles, the scenery still hadn't changed, he shifted again and sighed.

"You gonna put in another tape?" Sam asked. There was amusement in his voice and Dean figured his little brother knew good and well what being in the passenger seat was doing to him. Short periods of time he could handle. Almost a week? Nope, he wasn't going to let this happen again.

"Yeah, fine." Dean grunted and fumbled with the box of tapes. He selected one at random and pushed it into the player.

_"Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me."_

"Damn it! Not another one. A fucking break. That's all I want." The second tape followed the first.

"Dean?"

"Don't ask, Sammy."

"Something bothering you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What part of 'don't ask' do you not understand?"

"Fine. Whatever. You don't have to be a jerk about it."

Dean sighed again and looked over at his brother. Sam's gaze never wavered from the highway in front of them, but he could see the concern flickering in his eyes. There was anger there, too, in the tightening of his lips.

Jerk was just a mild term. Asshole would have been better. "This is--I'm not in--Sammy, I have to have something to do, to focus on." Dean wanted to tear his hair out.

"You and your control freak issues."

"Oh, thanks a lot." Dean crossed his arms.

"Truth hurts, don't it." Sam finally looked at him, his lips loosening into a smile.

"Who's the jerk now, Sammy?"

Sam laughed as he looked back at the road. "Hey, I learned from the best."

Dean shook his head, feeling a smile of his own grace his face. "You got that right." Laying an arm across the top of the seat, he said, "Take the next exit and pull into a gas station. The needle is edging too close to the 'E'."

"We can still make it another ten or fifteen miles. Stop being so paranoid. I'm keeping an eye on it."

"Sammy, there's a gas station right here. Exit." He gave Sam his best 'I'm your big brother, do as I tell you' voice.

"Like I said, control freak." Sam muttered, but flipped on the turn signal and exited the freeway.

Dean ignored the comment and patted Sam on the head. "That's a good boy."

"Cut it out." Sam knocked Dean's hand away. The Impala rolled to a stop in front of the gas pump.

Dean waited for Sam to kill the engine before he opened the door. "Do me a favor," he said. "Go inside and pay, will you?"

Sam folded his arms, elbows sticking straight out. "Your wish is my command."

"If only I were so lucky," Dean muttered.

"Anything else, master?"

Dean pretended to consider the question. "Yeah," he finally answered. "Grab me a cup of coffee."

Sam nodded at him, face solemn.

Dean laughed to himself as he watched Sam move from the Impala to the convenience store. He'd never admit it to Sam, but one of the things he missed the most when Sam had gone off to college was his little brother's sense of humor. In years past it always made the endless road trips more bearable.

It was good to have his brother with him.

The numbers on the gas pump flickered fast and furious as the gas automatically flowed into the Impala's gas tank. While he waited, Dean grabbed the windshield squeegee and began to meticulously and methodically clean the glass. No matter where they were going, no matter what the job, there was always time to take care of his baby.

He finished with the windows just as the pump shut off. After setting everything back to rights and patting the hood of the car, Dean turned and stared across the parking lot at the convenience store.

Sam should have been back by now. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but not enough to indicate there would be a long line in the store.

His little brother wasn't a child. Hell, he wasn't even _little_. That didn't stop Dean from worrying about him. It was one of the rules in the Big Brother Handbook; expected and encouraged.

Dean couldn't even think the phrase, 'What could happen to him in a convenience store?' Thoughts like those almost always seemed to guarantee trouble and quite possibly pain. So, instead, he concentrated on waiting, muscles locked tight; ready to take on whatever might come his way.

When Sam came out of the store carrying two cups, Dean felt the tension drain from his body. He leaned back against the front fender of the Impala and crossed his ankles. "What took you so long?" he asked, managing to keep his tone light.

Sam handed him one of the cups and took a sip of his own before answering. "You aren't going to believe this."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What? You get stuck in the john?" With his brother safe and sound in front of him, he could afford to be teasing.

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Sam leaned against the car next to Dean. He jerked his head toward the store. "I overheard a few people talking in there. I think we might have a job."

Dean took a drink of his coffee, savoring the rich flavor. Not bad for being in the middle of nowhere. "Yeah? What have you got?"

Sam gave him a half shrug. "It may not be much, but it might be something."

Dean watched as his brother raised the cup to his lips and knew Sam was stalling. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" he muttered. "Spit it out, Sammy."

Sam looked over at him. "Things moving on their own, weird noises, accidents that can't be explained. You know, the usual."

"You're kidding, right? Not much? It's fucking thin, Sam."

"Hey." Sam's eyes narrowed. "We've investigated things with less."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, man. You sure the locals aren't making it up? Something to tease the people who drift through, trying to get 'em to stick around and spend a little money?"

"Guess anything is possible." Sam walked over and tossed his cup into the trash. He turned to face Dean again. "I have a feeling that's all."

There were many ways Dean could reply to that, but he settled for repeating his brother. "A feeling?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay." Dean stood up. "Then that's good enough for me." He walked around to the driver's side. "So? Where is this place with the mysterious happenings?"

"Oh, man," Sam replied, a smile gracing his features. "You are not going to believe this."

* * *

"No way!" Dean couldn't stop saying it, but it was just as bizarre now as it was the first time he heard Sam say it. "This is some weird-ass joke, dude. You can't be serious."

"I _am_ serious." Sam chewed on a fry.

Dean took a bite of his burger, trying to think of something else to say besides 'no way'. After Sammy had dropped his little bombshell, they had left the gas station. A few miles down the road they had found a restaurant. Dean, figuring he couldn't quite wrap his mind around this new job while driving, had whipped into a parking space. Maybe with a little food in him, he could understand the situation a whole lot better. At present, his idea seemed to be falling a little flat. "Explain it to me again, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's a rest stop, Dean. How hard is that to understand?"

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Dude, you're talking about a _haunted_ rest stop. In Iowa. There's just something wrong with the way that sounds. A _rest stop_. It sounds--it sounds--"

"Ridiculous?"

"Yeah." Dean leaned back as if he'd proven his point. "Who the hell would haunt a rest stop? There's probably some kind of logical explanation for the weird noises and accidents."

"Don't forget things moving around on their own," Sam said. "I still think we should check it out."

"Sammy--" Dean started, but his brother interrupted him.

"Besides, I think I might have found something." Sam gestured to the laptop sitting on the table to his right. He turned the screen toward Dean. "Look, just last week they had to close it down because a street lamp blew and then fell."

Dean glanced at the screen then back to his brother. "Sam, that doesn't mean anything."

"Those things are set in concrete, man. It was solid. Nothing could have brought it down not even seriously bad weather, which there wasn't the night it fell."

Dean drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't think that this is our type of problem."

"You said that about the shapeshifter, too." Sam pointed out. "Remember?"

Dean shivered a little as memories of his evil double assailed him. Too many innocent people had gotten hurt including Sam. If it hadn't been for his brother's firm conviction that something supernatural was afoot, though, more people could have been hurt. "Okay, okay. I get your point. Besides, you said you had a feeling, right?"

Sam nodded.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Dean muttered, "let's go check out that rest stop."

TBC

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_Frantic_, _St. Anger_, Metallica, 2003.  
_Bohemian Rhapsody_, _A Night at the Opera_, Queen, 1975. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers and Notes in part 1. 

Thanks to all who are reading. Feedback is wonderful!

* * *

Chapter 3

Sam briefly looked up from the computer as his brother exited the bathroom of Room 5 at the Roadside Motel. "You know, this is crappier than the crappiest motel we stayed at last week," Dean announced, as though it was something they hadn't noticed upon first entering. "This shithole doesn't even have a shower curtain."

Sam shrugged. It's not that he didn't agree, he was just too busy trying to read through the article he found as fast as possible. Before the damn dialup kicked him off again. God how he hated dialup! The fact that he had to use the friggin' phone line to get an Internet connection irritated him to no end. That, and the fact that the library was closed already and 'real' research would have to wait until morning.

Dean stood hovering over Sam's shoulder. He seemed willing to let his earlier complaint go unnoticed. "You know, we might as well have gone straight to that rest stop and camped out there. At least we wouldn't have to pay fifty bucks a night for barely a pot to piss in."

Sam didn't reply. His eyes were scanning the article he'd found that had recently appeared in the town's local paper detailing some of the strange occurrences at the rest stop. It was much longer than the blurb he'd found earlier about the rest stop being closed due to a fallen lamppost. This particular article, though it lacked a serious tone, had information that dated back several years. Apparently a lot had happened there, and Sam was more certain than ever that this was their kind of thing.

His brother waved a hand in front of his face, just as he lost his connection. Again. "Dammit, Dean, what?" he barked, as he signed on again, trying to re-establish the link.

Dean immediately snapped back, his voice getting louder with every word. "I said, I'm wondering what we're doing wasting our fucking time and money in this crappy motel when we could be checking things out at the rest stop!"

"Uh, research?" Sam replied. "Does that ring a bell with you? It's something we do before we go blasting toilets." He turned his attention back to the computer.

Dean snorted then nodded to the screen that was now back online. "So did you find anything, college boy?"

Sam quickly made his way back to the article, doing his best to ignore his brother's foul mood and his own quick temper. "Yeah, check this out. This guy, Sanders, wrote this long article late last month on all the weird stuff going on at this rest stop. He ends with the premise that a haunting is a great tourist attraction, you know, not really serious about it. But if what he wrote checks out, there's been a lot of action there."

Dean leaned closer now, eyes scanning the screen. "Like what?"

"Well, like freak car wrecks at the rest stop. People running into poles or into each other. Drivers saying that it felt like someone else took the wheel. And look," Sam pointed to a section of the article, "most of the cars were the same or similar models."

"Camaros, Firebirds, a Trans Am," Dean read aloud.

"And," Sam continued. "People have gotten hurt by things flying around inside the restroom area, like a towel dispenser, a knob off one of the sinks, and the doors to the stalls sometimes swing open and closed, knocking people around."

"Any serious injuries?"

Sam shook his head. "Scrapes, cuts, even with the car accidents. But it says here that one boy broke his arm."

"How?"

"There's a swing set behind the rest stop. He fell or rather was pushed by an unseen force."

Dean sighed. "You really think this Sanders guy isn't just making all this up?"

"I doubt the local paper would let him print it if the facts, you know, the accidents themselves, didn't check out," Sam replied. "Besides, we can look up the accident reports tomorrow when the library re-opens."

The browser blinked out. The screen announced that the connection had been interrupted. "Damn it to hell!" Sam cursed in frustration.

"It's a sign, Sammy," Dean announced, tagging his brother on the shoulder. "Let's go."

"We still don't know what we're dealing with," Sam protested, trying yet again to get back online. He was reluctant to start a hunt without really knowing what they were hunting. Especially when he felt that jumping into things too quickly was what had gotten Dean hurt back in New York. There was no way they were going into this one unprepared.

"Look, there've been no serious injuries, right? No deaths related to this rest stop spook, whatever it is?"

"No," he admitted, albeit reluctantly. Even so, he didn't feel right about not knowing what was going on out there. "But Dean--"

"But nothing," Dean said. "Let's go do some recon."

Sam couldn't help the feeling of dread from settling in the pit of his stomach. Logically, he knew that this wasn't much different than how they'd handled cases before. Routinely they found themselves on site with little to go on but their survey equipment and some scanty research or word of mouth, but something about this place. A rest stop. The ordinariness of it, the ridiculousness, gave Sam a feeling that they were being too flippant about the whole thing. Or at least Dean was.

"What's wrong, Sam?" For the first time since Sam had mentioned the words "rest stop", Dean's tone was serious.

Sam looked up into his brother's eyes. "It's just--"

"Just what?" It seemed like Dean was ready to listen, really listen.

Sam cleared his throat. "I think we're not taking this seriously enough."

"Because it's a rest stop," Dean offered, his composure began to waiver.

But it was Sam who broke into a grin first. He just couldn't help himself. "Yeah, because it's a rest stop."

"Look," Dean said, "I'll promise not to make any jokes about flushing the toilets with holy water, if you promise to lighten up a bit. Deal?"

Sam realized that it was Dean's way of saying that he'd be careful. "Deal," Sam replied, snapping the laptop shut.

It was after nightfall when the Impala came to a halt just shy of the barricade that blocked the rest stop.

"You wanna do the honors?" Dean asked, looking over at his brother.

Sam shrugged and got out of the car. He eased the barricade over to the side then got back in. They drove the short distance and parked under a lamppost, still lit despite the fact that the rest stop was closed down. Sam thought it was odd that the small town didn't think to save money by shutting down the power. Odd, but lucky for them that they didn't have to do their surveillance by flashlight alone.

When they got out of the car, Dean immediately went for their supplies in the trunk. He handed the video camera to Sam and took the EMF meter for himself. Then he packed a shotgun loaded with rock salt, a couple of flashlights, and a canister of salt in the duffle.

"Better safe than sorry," he said to Sam as he hoisted the duffle strap over his shoulder and shut the trunk.

Sam was actually glad that his brother was taking this hunt seriously. Even though no one had suffered a fatal injury yet, it didn't mean that things couldn't escalate. And if there were spirits haunting this rest stop, Sam knew that their presence could be interpreted as a threat. _It's a small comfort that Dean's Impala wasn't ghost-jacked and crashed_, Sam thought. _At least that was something_.

Sam switched on the camera and fumbled with the night vision until the familiar green glow emanated from the LCD screen. Beside him, Dean shut the trunk and flipped on the EMF meter. "You wanna split up?"

"We still don't know what we're dealing with," Sam said by way of reply.

"Sissy."

Sam looked from the view screen to his brother, who stood smiling beside him. Then he glanced over Dean's shoulder at the downed lamppost several feet away. One uprooted from concrete. The city had yet to get a crane in to remove the thing. The article mentioned that it was part of the reason they closed the rest stop. To Sam, the fallen lamppost hinted at the magnitude of the power they were dealing with. He nodded toward it. "Tell it to the streetlight, Dean."

His brother looked over at it and shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, turning back to Sam. "Just thought we could cover twice the space in half the time, dude, but oh well."

It actually took them all of twenty minutes to walk around the entire grounds together. The sweep they did encompassed the parking lot, swing set -- that actually obliged by swinging a little for them regardless of the fact that there was no wind whatsoever -- the picnic table area, and both tiled restrooms.

Dean's EMF meter went off in the vicinity of the swing set, near the fallen streetlight, and again in the woman's restroom. It looks like their spook had a circuit. Each area was like the point in a triangle of activity, or at least residual activity. Sam's sweep with the video camera produced less results. Only a glimpse at an orb by the swing set and then it was gone. Other than that, Sam came up empty. Whatever was out there was remaining fairly dormant. For tonight at least.

"Looks like we got a shy one," Dean commented as they packed their gear into the trunk again. "Barely worth our time."

Sam was surprised by his brother's lack of interest. It was as if his earlier more serious demeanor had vanished after they'd found next to nothing. "I wouldn't say that, Dean," Sam said. "People have gotten hurt here. There's obviously a restless spirit around that needs to move on."

"Sam, there are restless spirits in every freakin' town all across the U.S. What are we supposed to do? Give all of them a Winchester send off?" Dean slammed the trunk shut.

Sam couldn't believe the turn their conversation had taken. Couldn't quite grasp why his brother was willing to let this one go and move on. They never left a job unfinished before. "What is your problem?"

Dean leaned back against the trunk. "This is small potatoes, whatever it is. Don't you think our time is better spent where we're really needed?"

"Right now, we're needed right here, Dean." Sam emphasized his words by pointing down at the asphalt. "This thing can escalate, you know that."

Dean made no verbal reply. Instead he just shrugged and made his way past Sam to the driver's side door of the Impala. Dean's mind seemed to have already been made up about this job. Sam knew it was up to him now to do everything he could to change it. Besides, Sam could stand a break from one of their more challenging jobs to take care of something -- this rest stop -- that had low potential for mayhem.

When they were both seated in the car and pulling out of parking lot, Sam added, "Look, we'll do some library research tomorrow and see what we're up against. How's that?"

"All right, toilet boy," Dean replied sarcastically.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimers and Notes in Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Tate and I appreciate your feedback.

* * *

Chapter 4

"Another town, another library," Dean muttered as he parked the car in front of a red brick building. "We should write a freaking book and call it _Libraries across America_."

"I think _A Bibliophile's Atlas_ has a better ring to it." Sam grinned at his brother from the passenger seat. Dean slapped him upside the back of his head. Not hard, but enough to make his point clear to Sam.

"Just get out of the damn car, dork. I don't want to waste all day in a room filled with musty old books."

Sam rubbed the back of his head, more for show than anything else, as they walked up to the front doors. "Boy, someone sure got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"I got up. Period." Dean growled. "And just so you know, the next time you wake me up at five a.m. for no good reason I _will_ shave your eyebrows while you sleep."

Sam's eyes narrowed at him. He was amazed that Dean still wasn't being serious about this hunt. He'd barely glanced at the video footage Sam had showed him earlier and was complaining about it now. "It was for a very good reason," Sam defended. "I wanted to show you what I found when I slowed down the video."

"Yeah, yeah. You think our ghost might be a woman. You still could have waited an hour."

Sam pushed open the door and Dean followed him inside. It was an important revelation, but Dean was having none of it right now. All Sam could do was plod on, despite his brother's seeming indifference. One of them always had to be on task and, more frequently than not, Sam figured he was the one who had to be the driving force in their research mode.

"Can I help you, gentleman?" the librarian inquired as they walked up to the counter. He raised a bushy white eyebrow at them as he stood up and gave them a once over.

"We were wondering if we could look through some of your old newspapers?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

"Sorry, son, can't help you. We don't carry back issues of the paper. We just don't have the budget or the space for that."

"Shitty motel, lousy internet, and crappy library. Boy, this just keeps getting better and better," Sam heard Dean mutter under his breath. He kicked his brother with his booted toe, not so gently, and heard him gasp. In response, Dean flicked a finger at his ear.

Sam barely registered the intrusion, brushing it off like someone would a fly. He had no time or patience for Dean's antics. Instead he focused all his attention on the librarian with what he hoped was a gaze full of crushing disappointment.

"Oh, man, I'll never get my paper done now," he said, using his best and most pitiful whine.

The librarian stared at Sam, bushy eyebrows now drawn into a frown. "Paper? What's the topic, son? I still might be able to help you."

Sam chewed on his lip before answering. "I'm doing a statistical paper on small town crime. Um, does the local newspaper have a database or something?"

"Indeed it does, son." The librarian looked suitably impressed. "We were able to subscribe this year. It's a relatively new feature on the _Ames Tribune_ website. Come. Let me show you." He led the way to a bank of three computers along the farthest wall.

"Way to go, college boy," Dean murmured as he followed Sam.

"Okay. If you need anything else just give a holler." The librarian grinned. "In a manner of speaking, of course." He patted Sam's shoulder and walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

"That guy's kind of weird. Whoever heard of a man being a librarian, anyway?"

Sam sighed. His brother was truly becoming exasperating. "You're kidding, right, Dean? We've run into male librarians before. So sit down already. You were the one who said you didn't want to waste anytime in here." Sam didn't even look in Dean's direction as his fingers flew over the keyboard, already entering search terms.

Dean didn't say anything. Instead he sank into the chair beside him.

It wasn't too long before Sam's search became fruitful. "I think I found something."

"What is it?" Dean propped his elbow on the table, leaning in for a closer look. "Short article."

"Yeah," Sam replied, "but it's one of the car accidents. June 2004. Says the car bounced up on the curb and hit one of stone picnic tables. The driver claims someone else took control of the car. But because he was alone, the authorities suspect he fell asleep at the wheel. The accident happened pretty late at night."

Dean pointed at the picture accompanying the article. "That Camaro looks pretty old. Didn't that article you found yesterday mention that all the car accidents involved cars of a same or similar model?"

"Uh-huh." Sam stared at him a moment. "What are you thinking, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. Just another piece of the puzzle. See if you can pull up anymore articles on the accidents."

"Right." Sam clicked a few keys. "Hmmm...this looks like another one. June 2001."

"_Smokey and the Bandit_," Dean said.

"What?"

Dean pointed to the picture on the screen. "That's the car. You know? From the movie? It's a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. Cool ride."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's digression and quickly turned back to the screen, fingers again flying over the keyboard. Four articles later, they had a better picture of what they had already begun to suspect. Cars did seem to be the key. Whoever this spirit was, it seemed to have an issue with these similar vehicles passing through the rest stop.

"A couple of Camaros, some Firebirds, and one ordinary Trans Am. All manufactured in the same decade. All the same color," Dean noted. "That's not a coincidence, Sammy."

"Don't forget the dates of the accidents, too. Every three to five years there's an accident. All of them in June. That's gotta be the key."

"Yeah, but a key to what?" Dean stood up from his chair and began pacing.

They weren't much closer to finding any answers then when they had walked in almost two hours ago. The Sanders article had already told them as much. Their findings had only confirmed it. "There's got to be something." Sam insisted, turning his chair to look at his brother. "I hope we find it soon, though. The database only goes back so far and right now we don't have much to go on. It's like we're hitting a dead end."

"I hate when you say that." Dean crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the table. "Okay, how about we try another angle? Other types of accidents?"

Sam leaned back. "Well, we know from the article that Sanders wrote that a ten year-old boy had an accident on the swing set. He claimed he felt someone push him."

"Injuries?"

"Minor. Everything has been minor. There's really been no rhyme or reason."

"Yeah, of course there isn't." Dean rubbed his forehead. "There never is."

Sam had already turned back to the keyboard. "Well, it looks like two years ago the frame that holds the map fell. It managed to hit another little boy. Dislocated his shoulder."

"Son of a bitch. Whatever is out there is hurting kids and causing accidents. We better figure this out soon, Sam, before anyone else gets hurt."

It seemed that Dean was finally getting on board. The seriousness of whatever was going on a couple miles down the road was finally sinking in. And after everything they'd read, Sam couldn't help but feel that things were only bound to get worse. "Or before someone dies," he added, giving voice to his true concern.

"Yeah, that, too."

"We know something happened at that rest stop and that it most likely involved a type of sports car. But if it was an accident or something else," Dean shrugged, "we just don't know."

Shoulders slumping, Sam reached for the mouse. "Guess we should keep looking."

"Sammy, I know you'll find something. You always do."

The faith in his older brother's voice was encouraging. Even though Sam prided himself in his ability to find answers in their research, he had to admit that it sometimes got frustrating even for him. At school, good research meant the difference between an "A" and a "B"; in real life, it could mean the difference between someone's life or death. Sam clicked on another article, and began scrolling. "There's gotta be something to connect all this."

"What is it, Sammy? Is it 'the shining' again?"

"No, no vision just a gut feeling." He looked at Dean. "You know what I mean. You follow your gut all the time."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, there's something to be said for instinct. But with you, it's sometimes a little more than that. Are you sure there isn't something you aren't telling me?"

Sam glared at him. He couldn't believe Dean would think he'd hide something from him that concerned a case. "I swear there's nothing more to it than that. Don't you trust me?"

Dean gazed at him steadily. "You know I do. You're the one who likes to have as much information as possible. I'm just making sure all our bases are covered."

Sam rubbed his face. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. It's just that it's getting to me. We're so close, Dean, I just know it."

Dean gestured to the computer. "Then let's get to it."

Sam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he faced the screen again. Leave it to Dean, who'd been reluctant to get going on this research in the first place, to motivate him into continuing. His brother was certainly full of surprises.

"And just so you know," Dean said softly. "You can trust me, too."

Sam's fingers froze on the keyboard. Yeah, full of surprises. Without looking up, he said just as quietly: "Never doubted that."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Notes and Disclaimers in chapter 1.

Note: This chapter is a bit violent and bloody. Hope you like.

Thanks to everyone who is reading. Feedback is adored.

* * *

Chapter 5

"I hope we did the right thing," Sam said from his usual seat, riding shotgun.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Dean shot back. "I'm the one who had to dig the damn grave."

Sam's white teeth flashed in the darkness. "Yeah? Well, I'm the one who found the info. _And_ I got us directions to the cemetery. You're just sore because you lost the bet."

Dean was tempted to smack the smile off his brother's face, but the twinge in his shoulder stopped him. Or so he told himself. It was actually nice to see Sam smile. He hid his own as he said, "All part of the big plan, Sammy. I let you win." _Like I didn't know you wouldn't eventually figure out what we were up against, college boy._

Sam laughed. "Let me win? I don't think so. You'd never let me win at anything."

_If only you knew_, Dean thought. "Thought you needed the break. You know, because of all the driving you've been doing these last two weeks. I know it's been a strain not being used to all that activity."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean leaned back in his seat -- that's right, his seat -- and stared out the windshield at the deserted rest stop. "So? We just gonna sit here trading insults, or are we actually getting out of the damn car?"

"I'm just not sure it was necessary to burn the boy's bones. There's been no evidence he's been haunting the rest stop."

"Not that we know of. It's not like we've done a lot of recon, Sammy." Dean shifted in his seat. "Besides, whether or not burning Joshua Taylor's bones helped, the point is that I'm sure it didn't hurt. Better to be safe than sorry."

"Guess you're right." Sam's sigh was loud in the Impala.

Dean scowled. Why did his brother have to make things so damn difficult? "Spit it out, Sammy."

"He's not the real threat here, Dean, she is."

The "she" to whom Sam was obliquely referring was Joshua's older sister, Kaytlon. Their ghost in the video. "Yeah, well, we're not gonna get much done sitting here jawing about it." Dean knew he sounded a bit disgruntled, but if inactivity could kill you, he knew he'd be dead by now.

"I just want to know we've got all the facts before we go out there." Sam was staring out his window.

"Sam? Look at me." Dean waited for his brother to turn his head toward him. "You…having another feeling?"

The look in Sam's eyes was bleak. "Same one. It just feels like we're missing something."

"What could we be missing?" Dean asked. "We know that in 1989 a 22-year-old girl and her 18-year-old brother were on their way to see some movie in a nearby county. According to their parents, they never returned home. The authorities did a search and found the boy's body behind the rest stop, not too far from where that swing set is now. The girl's body was never found. Now, here we are."

"I just wish we knew why she was attacking kids, that's all. The car accidents I can sort of understand. They never caught the person who killed them, but it stands to reason he was driving some kind of black sports car."

"Does it really matter? Whatever the reason, we're going to have to put her down. You know that."

"Yeah, of course we are."

Dean let out a frustrated breath. "Sammy, what's really bothering you? Come on, man, what's going on in that freaky head of yours?"

"It's--it's that I know you, Dean."

Sam was staring out the passenger window, but Dean had heard well enough. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"You're really going to make me say it out loud, aren't you?" Not really a question and Sam's reluctance was almost tangible.

Dean wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions, though. "Sam," he growled.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Sam muttered, turning to look at him. "Dean, if--if something were to happen on a hunt… if you died trying to protect me, but failed, would you…"

"Would I become a pissed off ghost?" Dean frowned as he tried to gauge Sam's emotions. Most of the time it was easy, but tonight his brother's expression was shuttered. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you? You think the reason Kaytlon is haunting the rest stop is because she failed to protect her brother?"

"Yeah, I do." His quiet conviction triggered a feeling somewhere in the vicinity of Dean's heart.

"Sam, if I failed to protect you and we both died maybe I _would_ be a pissed off ghost. If the situation were reversed, _you_ might come back as the angry one." Dean watched as his brother's body jerked at that statement and he finally knew what was really bothering him. "The point is neither of us has to worry about that."

"We don't?" His brother always had to question everything. Sam didn't like to do anything without full explanations. It was the source of every conflict he'd ever had with their father. "Why not?"

"Because no one is dying tonight. That's why." Dean believed that, had faith in it. No way was he going to let anything happen to his brother.

It was silent for a moment and then Dean heard Sam chuckle. "Big brother's always right, huh?"

"Damn straight," Dean said, "and I'll tell you something else. Kaytlon could be haunting this fucking place because of the whole violence and death thing. Not to mention the whole not being put to rest thing."

"Which brings us back to our problem. We don't know where her bones are."

"One step at a time, Sammy."

"Yeah. Guess we'd better get out of the car, huh?"

Dean shrugged. "Either way, it's a waiting game. But, if there's going to be any action, it's going to be out there."

"That what your gut is telling you?"

"Nah." Dean let a grin creep into his voice. "There isn't a ghost who would dare fuck with the Impala."

"Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting that." The sarcasm was thick in Sam's voice.

"The mind is always the first to go." Dean opened his car door, all the while speaking, hoping to hold off the retort he knew was at the tip of Sam's tongue. "Come on. We burned her brother's bones, maybe now she'll come out to play."

* * *

Dean sat on the picnic table, feet balanced on the bench. A shotgun lay across his knees and he scanned the area around him, every nerve in his body on alert. It was nearing midnight and it had been quiet for the last two hours. For Dean, it was almost too quiet. He could never really put it into words, but it was almost like he could feel the air grow heavy. His hand tightened on the gun in his lap.

There was something out there and all he had to do was wait for it. His family would claim he had no patience, but on the hunt it was different. On the hunt, patience meant everything. So he continued to search the darkness.

"Anything out there?" The quiet voice came from his right.

"Not yet," Dean muttered. The tension in his body had not abated, and wouldn't until the gig was over, but his shoulder was beginning to throb. Digging graves was no easy task, but it still had to be done. Still on alert, he rotated his right arm, hoping to ease the ache.

"If you're looking for sympathy, you're not going to get it here."

Dean quirked an eyebrow and looked at his brother. "Unless you were blonde, a little shorter, and a lot rounder--" Dean emphasized this point by bringing his hands to chest height and making forward curving motions. "I wouldn't want your sympathy."

"Good to know." Sam walked over to the vending machine, one hand digging through his jacket pocket where Dean could hear coins rattle.

"Need some money?" he asked, climbing off the picnic table.

"Nope. Got it covered." Sam fed some money into the machine and pushed a few buttons. He shifted his gun out of the way, bending down to retrieve the snack from the dispenser. "Here," he said. "This might make you feel better." Sam turned and tossed something at Dean.

The yellow bag of peanut M&M's bounced off Dean's chest and fell to the ground unnoticed. His grip on the gun tightened, anxiety prickling along his spine.

"Dean? What's wrong?" His brother had been looking at him, but Sam was now turning back to the vending machine, his own gun coming up. "Is there--"

"Sammy!" Dean screamed as the grating noise that had penetrated his subconscious and had triggered off his sense of _wrongness_ finally resolved into something he could understand. "Get out of the way!" The words shot out of his mouth even as his feet flew toward his brother.

"What the--" Dean saw Sam take a step backward even as the vending machine jiggled forward, once again scraping across the concrete and grating along Dean's nerves. The grinding, thumping noise grew so loud that it almost drowned out the fear roaring in his ears.

"No. Sam." Dean whispered, the words sticking in his throat. Sam was too close and Dean not close enough.

Sam took another stumbling step back.

Dean felt time drag at his ankles. He reached for his brother, teeth clenching.

The wind was picking up and Sam's nearly wordless shout was almost lost. But Dean had heard the distress in his brother's voice. With a sudden burst of energy, he latched onto Sam's arm. Just as relief began coursing through him, time slammed into fast-forward, and Dean's respite washed away in a cacophony of sound.

The explosion rang in Dean's ears, the ground trembling from the force of it. "Sammy!" Pieces of Plexiglas and metal flew at them and Dean felt the sting of the projectiles on his face. He had to get his brother away from here and fast. "I gotcha, Sammy, I gotcha," Dean muttered, more to reassure himself than Sam.

"Know...you...do." The words came in short bursts and Dean's heart slammed in his chest.

"Come on," Dean shouted over the increasing noise of the wind, individual snack bags whipped around them and if Dean was paying attention, he probably would have felt Skittles and M&Ms hitting him like missiles. Gripping his brother tightly around the waist, he started hauling Sam toward the building, very much aware of his brother's dragging feet. "We need to take shelter." After that he could assess the damage.

_Damn it, Sammy, you had better be all right_, he thought.

Keeping his brother close, Dean ducked his head as more snacks flew around them. _Damn it_, he wanted to yell. _Give me a break, just a lousy few seconds to breathe. My brother needs me._

"Just fucking stop already!" He yelled, but the wind continued to scream as it pushed and shoved at them.

"Dean?" Sam's hair whipped about his face. Dean couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel Sam trembling against him.

"We're almost there, Sammy." Dean managed to yell over the increasing wind. "Just a few more steps."

As they reached the entrance to one of the bathrooms, the wind abruptly died away, leaving behind an eerie quiet. Dean felt his brother stumble. "Whoa, stay with me, Sammy. A bathroom floor, in the middle of nowhere? Not exactly the cleanest place to plant your ugly mug." A joke. Yeah, maybe that would alleviate the fluttering sensation in his stomach.

"'m sorry," Sam mumbled as something clattered to the floor.

Dean tried not to jump at the suddenly loud sound. He looked down and noticed Sam's shotgun lying where it had been dropped, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of curses that wanted to erupt from his mouth. No amount of joking was going to stop the panic racing through his veins. But there was no time to give into it. He would just have to channel it into control, into determination. Like always. "Come on. Let's sit you down over here so I can take a look at the damage." Dean led his brother to the wall beside the row of sinks.

"What about the ghost?" Sam asked as Dean shifted his grip on him and began lowering him to the floor.

"Haven't actually seen a ghost yet, Sammy," Dean replied, his full concentration on his brother. He felt the air whoosh from his lungs as if he'd taken a two-by-four to the stomach. _No, no, no_. He closed his eyes and for a moment, gave into the childish hope that what he had seen was a trick of the light. But when they flashed open again, his brother was still propped up against a grimy bathroom wall; his eyes still glassy. Blood still soaked his shirt, just catching on the edges of his favorite brown jacket. Worst of all, there was still a piece of metal lodged in his chest.

Dean let out a breath. "Shit." With careful movements, he took the lapels of Sam's jacket and eased them away so he could get a better look at the wound.

Sam glanced down at his chest. "Looks kind of bad, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, kind of." Dean's voice cracked. "Look at me, Sam." He cradled his brother's face between his palms, noting the clamminess of his skin. "I'm not gonna lie to you. We've got a bit of problem here and not a whole lot of time. But you gotta trust me. I'm going to get you out of this."

"I'm not worried. Besides, it's not as bad as it looks." Sam brought his hands to his chest

Dean grabbed them and held them in a gentle grasp. "No, man, not a good idea." He ignored his brother's attempt to downplay his injury. The wound was critical and they both knew it. "Give me a sec."

"I'll, uh, wait right here." Sam's smirk would have had a lot more impact if not for the frisson of pain that crossed his face.

"Smart ass." Dean lowered Sam's hands to his lap and rose to his feet. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, he returned to Sam's side. "Ready?" he asked, kneeling next to his brother.

"Go for it," Sam replied.

Dean did a quick count to three in his head, stealing himself against the guilt he was going to feel at causing Sam pain. He took the paper towels and held them to Sam's chest, careful to bracket the piece of metal without actually touching it. "Sorry, Sammy."

"It's… okay. You gotta do what you gotta do." Sam grasped Dean's arm.

Silence descended. For the next few minutes, Dean watched as his baby brother gritted his teeth. The grip on Dean's arm tightened with each exhalation.

"D--Dean? You… you thought about what we might do next? I--I don't think we can stay much longer. What…whatever that was might happen again."

"You're right," Dean said. "We've got to get you out of here. You need a hospital."

"Yeah, that, too." The corners of Sam's mouth lifted.

Dean shook his head. "You know this type of shit is usually my gig. I get hurt. I make the wisecracks."

"Don't mean to be stealing your material."

"Just make sure you stick to the script next time. Got it?"

Sam let out a breath and Dean tried to ignore the pain that escaped with it. "Got it."

"Okay. Now that we've got that settled, let's plan our next move." Dean looked around the grungy bathroom, scoping the area for possible weapons. It was a typical public bathroom. They were screwed. "Whatever we're going to do is going to take both of us, Sam, so you have to stay with me. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I can handle that." Sam's eyes locked with his own and Dean could see the fire of determination in them.

"Good. Keep pressure on your chest, but don't touch the metal." Dean waited for his brother to get a grip on the paper towels staunching the flow of blood from his chest before standing up. "I'm going to take a run outside and grab the duffle bag."

"No!" Sam reached out a bloody hand toward him. "Too dangerous. You can't go out there."

"Sam." Dean knelt down next to him. "I don't have much to work with here."

"You'll just have to make do." Sam clutched at Dean's jacket. "Man, we can't watch each other's backs if you're out there."

Dean stared into his little brother's pleading eyes. There was no way Dean could leave him even for a few minutes. "Okay, then. Let's see what we've got."

"Shotguns." Sam pointed to the entrance.

"Right." Dean walked over and picked up the one Sam had dropped. He retrieved his own from a few feet away.

Sam said, "I've got a few extra rounds of rock salt."

"Me, too," Dean answered. He stuck his hands into his pockets and pulled out a few items. "I've also got a bottle of holy water, my lighter, and some rosary beads."

"And you're not even a boy scout," Sam murmured. "You have anything else hidden in those pockets of yours? Say, like a canister of salt?"

Dean shook his head. "Sorry. No such luck. The only other thing I have is a condom. And while it does offer protection, I'm not seeing it work in this particular situation."

"Oh, I don't know, Dean." Sam smiled. "If Kaytlon does appear maybe you could seduce her. That might get us out of here."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, that's just sick. I do have standards, you know."

"Right." Sam nodded. "I forgot. They have to at least be breathing. So I guess that leaves Kaytlon out after all."

"Laugh it up, funny man," Dean muttered, secretly pleased that Sam was lucid enough to joke with him, but he didn't know how long that would last. His little brother was hurt and if they didn't get out of this godforsaken bathroom soon...it didn't even bear thinking about. So Dean shored up his resolve and became the soldier he was taught to be. He laid Sam's gun down beside him and taking one of his brother's bloodied hands, Dean guided it to the weapon. "When the time comes, be ready. Okay?"

Dean tried not to notice how Sam's hand trembled as it lay atop the shotgun. "Yeah. I'll be ready."

"That's my boy." Dean's smile had a hint of pride in it. Winchesters never went down without a fight. "I don't know how long it's going to take before trouble shows up again, Sammy, but if nothing happens in the next few minutes, we're going to take a chance and run for the car. Got it?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam asked. "What if--"

"Sam," Dean interrupted him. "The only thing I know for sure is that it is _not_ a good idea to hang around here indefinitely."

"You don't have to worry about me," Sam began.

"Dude, I'm not worried about you," Dean lied. "This place just smells. That's all." He didn't wait for his brother's response. Standing up, he ventured around the corner to the entrance and peered out. Like a prize at the end of the finish line, the Impala was sitting by the curb. The car was the goal. He just had to focus on that.

Dean glanced at his watch, noting that it was still early. It felt like they'd been camping out in this bathroom for _days_. Time was always such a bitch. "Fucking hell," he muttered. This was supposed to be easy. It was a rest stop. But standing inside the doorway, seeing his little brother's eyes drift closed, he knew there was no such thing as easy.

"Sammy?" His voice was sharp with panic.

"Yeah, Dean." Dean barely heard Sam's whisper. The sand in the hourglass was almost gone.

"Stay awake," he commanded. He listened to his brother's answer before reminding him to be ready.

Dean checked his weapon, making sure the barrels were loaded. His hand strayed to his pocket, checking for the extra ammunition. He briefly considered sprinkling holy water along the threshold, but quickly discarded the idea. Salt was what he needed and that was in the fucking duffle bag outside.

As he continued to prowl around the area, checking and double-checking his weapon, he offered words of encouragement to Sam. He could tell his younger brother was having a difficult time staying focused, but he couldn't let Sam fall asleep. He didn't want to take the chance that Sam wouldn't wake up again.

Sam's cry of pain had Dean at his side, checking the wound again. All the while he kept up a light banter as he retrieved more paper towels and tried to stop the flow of blood from the hole in his brother's chest.

The lights began to flicker and Dean looked up. "Sammy," he whispered as they went completely out. "Dammit." For a moment he was locked in conflict, not knowing if he should stay with Sam or confront the trouble heading for them.

Then there was no time to think.

The wind they had previously escaped pushed into the small bathroom. The force of it shattered all of the windows. Glass rained down upon them even as water gushed from the now broken faucets. In a matter of seconds, he and Sam were both drenched.

"Come on, Sammy, were goin'." He reached his brother's side as Sam tried to stand. "Stay with me," Dean said, slipping an arm around Sam's waist. "Ready?"

"It's here. What the--" Sam stuttered to a halt and pointed.

Dean whipped his head toward the entrance, trying to see despite the wind blowing in his eyes. "T--That can't be."

"Dean, we--we salted and burned the bones...how..."

Looking from his bloodied brother to the entrance, Dean could only manage one word: "Shit."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Notes and Disclaimers in chapter 1.

A/N: I'm sorry this has been delayed. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave feedback. Thanks!

Chapter 6

The apparition glowing in the doorway slowly moved into the restroom, followed closely by another. They were glowing so brightly that the figures were hard to make out. Featureless except for their vaguely human shape. Only one thing was certain -- there were two of them. And from the way the wind kicked up and the stall doors began to shake, they were bent at wreaking more havoc. With that realization, instinct took over for Sam. His brother needed him. There was no way Dean could get them both out of this by himself.

Adrenaline pumping through him, his heart beating wildly, Sam pushed himself away from Dean and brought up his shotgun. Beside him, he heard Dean shout his name, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother's gun level with his.

"Let's do this," Sam said, letting his brother know he was in the fight.

"'atta boy, Sammy. I got the one on the right."

With practiced precision, they aimed at their targets. And fired.

The kickback of the shotgun was enough to send a shockwave of pain through Sam's chest so intense that he almost blacked out. His vision dimmed, and he couldn't tell if the ghosts had disappeared or not. He guessed not when he heard Dean shoot again. And despite the fact he wanted to help, willed his body to cooperate, he couldn't. All Sam knew was his own agony, and his desperate struggle to get air into his lungs. An effort that suddenly seemed impossible. He dropped to his knees, the weapon falling out of his limp fingers.

"Time to go," he heard Dean say from right beside him, as his brother gripped his arm and hauled him back to his feet. Dean's voice and the jarring movement kept him from slipping into unconsciousness.

Sam took a painful gulp of air and blinked the fog out of his eyes. The lights were back on. Everything had gone quiet and still. The water had stopped gushing, and he hadn't even noticed when.

Now, as he struggled to stay standing, Sam realized his mistake. The metal in his chest had moved. He knew it. He could feel it. And to his horror, he could taste it. There was blood in his mouth. Blood from whatever injury he had just done to himself by raising and shooting that gun. But there'd been no choice. None. And now . . .

"Sam, move your ass!" Dean had draped one of Sam's arms around his shoulder and was doing his best to support him, and hold a shotgun in his other hand. Dean was trying to get them to the now clear entryway, but his efforts wouldn't be enough if Sam didn't help himself. For Dean's sake, if not for his own, he had to. Dean wouldn't be able to get them both out of there and protect them on his own.

So he did move. He put one foot in front of the other, one hand coming up to rest just beneath the wound in his chest. His fingers brushed against cold metal, and he wanted nothing more than to yank the thing out. It was irrational, he knew, but there was a vague belief somewhere in him that if he did pull it out, the pain would magically go away. He grimaced. It would actually, once he bled to death.

They had just made it into the short hall that lead to the outside, when the lights flickered out again. A screech like the sound of a banshee echoed through the restroom, blasting the Winchesters from behind.

"There're back," Dean remarked.

Sam knew they had to get to the car now, but how they were going to do that with two pissed off ghosts breathing down their necks was anyone's guess. If only he had the strength to be of some kind of help to Dean, instead of being a burden. And although he knew this wasn't the time for brooding, he found himself thinking about how he seemed to always be his brother's bane. He was constantly the one in trouble, and Dean was forced to risk himself to save him.

Dean's urgent voice cut through is morbid thoughts. "Sammy, you still with me? We've gotta move."

"I'm go--" Whether he was going to say "I'm good" or "I'm going to pass out," Sam wasn't sure, but he was absolutely sure that the coughing fit that attacked him was going to put a damper on their getting-out-of-here quick plan. He wasn't only coughing; he was coughing up blood that splattered all over his own shirt and on Dean's jacket.

"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck . . . Sammy. Oh, my god." His brother's voice seemed far away.

His chest was on fire. And try as he might, the coughing wouldn't subside. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and he knees began to buckle. He was about to pull his brother down, and they'd barely exited the building. They'd never make it to the Impala. Not like this.

Mind no longer rational, Sam tried to pull away from Dean. He didn't want to be the one to pull Dean under, to cause his death. Convinced that his own was inevitable, Sam couldn't bear the thought that Dean would die with him.

"Sammy, stop it!" Dean shouted, just as a cold blast of air came at them from behind. In one swift movement, that amazed Sam with his brother's strength, Dean maneuvered them both around so that they were facing the restroom entrance.

There it was, one of them at least, standing on the concrete, near the demolished vending machine. It was vaguely woman-shaped. Its mouth opened, emitting another mind-blowing scream, its arms outstretched toward them. Dean cocked his gun and brought up, one-handed, and blasted her.

She disappeared immediately.

And with her, the last of Sam's strength seemed to fade as well. He started to slump to his knees with Dean beside him. The coughing had subsided. But he felt like a weight was pressing on his chest, keeping him from taking in any but the smallest breath of air. His vision was dimming again, and the only thing keeping him conscious was his brother beside him. And like then, there was blood. But this time, it seemed to be everywhere.

The moonlight was bright enough that he could see Dean's face clearly. The worry was etched into his forehead, visible in the small lines around his eyes. "Sammy, stay with me. It's just a little farther. We can make it."

"Dean, I'm dy--," he heard himself whisper.

"I will beat you to a bloody pulp if you say that word! Now get up!"

Sam blinked at the anger in Dean's voice. It was clear that even if he begged, Dean wouldn't leave him behind. It was also clear that Dean couldn't carry him. If his brother tried to throw him over a shoulder, the jarring on the piece of metal in his chest might kill him. Trying to carry Sam in both arms wouldn't leave a hand free to protect them. They both knew all this without it having to be said.

Sam needed to save himself. For Dean.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage, which was barely enough to keep him conscious and willed himself to stand. Dean's hands shifted to under his arms. Together, they managed to get Sam going again. Reaching for the gun, Dean stood with Sam held tightly in one arm.

The pair made stumbling progress toward the asphalt. That was until the ghost made its presence known again. It appeared this time between them and their goal. But just as it raised its arms toward them, just as Dean was raising the shotgun again, a flash of light collided with it. And the apparition itself became pure energy, melding with the other light until blinding flashes enveloped the whole area. The ball of light wasn't between them and the Impala, though, it had slid over to the left toward the swing set. The way for the Winchesters was clear.

It was now or never.

And if Sam's legs would only cooperate, they would make it to the car. To safety. They were within a few feet of the vehicle, when Sam's vision began to go dark again. "Dean," he warned. He heard rather than saw the shotgun clatter to the asphalt, as his brother used both hands to hold him up.

"Sam! Sammy!"

He didn't even have the breath to answer him. He slipped into unconsciousness, silently praying that his brother would make it, even if he didn't.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in chapter 1.

Wow, thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting. We really appreciate it. This chapter is a bit short, but it was needed. Hope you enjoy! Thanks again!

Chapter 7

Dean braced himself under his brother's collapsing weight. It was actually a testament to Sam's strength of character that he managed to not only stay conscious, but also fire a weapon, and haul himself to the car under his own steam.

Dean could do no less. "Don't worry, Sammy. I'll get you to the hospital. You're going to be fine."

Without the immediate spectral threat, Dean let his gun fall to the ground to take a firmer grip on his brother. He wrestled the car door open and eased Sam down into the front seat. The piece of metal in Sam's chest seemed to taunt him as Dean struggled to settle his brother more comfortably. It worried him that any movement could shift the metal and that could have deadly consequences.

For a moment, Dean gazed at his brother's slack features. "Hang in there. You hear me, Sammy? Just--" he choked, fists clenching at his sides. He took a few deep breaths before he pulled away and closed the door.

He raced around the car and scrambled into his seat behind the steering wheel. As the engine roared to life, he couldn't help glance in the rearview mirror. A deserted rest stop, deceivingly quiet. He'd never make that mistake again.

"Stay with me, Sammy," Dean murmured, voice tight, as he punched the gas.

The car shot forward and Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder to minimize any jostling the trip to the hospital might cause. His brother's body couldn't take any more trauma.

Dean raced down the highway, glancing at Sam every few seconds. A bloodied paper towel stuck obscenely to Sam's chest, his hands lying lax in his lap. The piece of metal glinted under the passing streetlights.

"Hold on, just hold on. We're almost there."

He changed his grip on Sam's shoulder so that he could feel for a pulse. With every sluggish beat, he pushed further down on the accelerator until it was pressed to the floor. "Come on. Come on. Where is it?"

An ambulance roared passed him, lights flashing. The hospital came into view just as the pulse under his fingers fluttered and stopped. "Sam? Sam? Oh, god. Don't do this. Please. Just stay with me. You gotta stay with me, little brother."

The screech of the Impala's tires as it came to a halt in front of the emergency room doors was lost on Dean. Nor would he remember darting around the car and opening Sam's door as he yelled for someone to help. What he would remember -- would always remember -- was the stillness of his brother's body as hospital staff took Sam away from him.

"Come back, Sam," he whispered as he wearily settled himself into a chair. "Just come back."

The wait was interminable, punctuated only by the request for insurance and the need to fill out hospital forms for admittance.

After that, Dean was left alone, his own tortured thoughts for company. He couldn't help but remember racing out of their burning house when Sam was only six months old. Dean had been in time then. He just hoped he'd been in time now, too.

He stood up and wandered to the only window in the waiting room and stared out into the darkness. For a moment, he wished his father were there so he wouldn't have to shoulder the wait alone. The hope was fleeting. Dean didn't even know where John Winchester was and getting him on the phone was impossible. No matter. He'd been taking care of Sammy all his life. He wouldn't stop now.

"Mr. Dickinson?"

Dean started, remembering the alias he'd used on the hospital paperwork. He turned and faced the doctor who had come up behind him. "How's my brother?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't come out to talk to you sooner, but it took some time to stabilize your brother and then we had to rush him into surgery."

"Don't be sorry just tell me everything I need to know now." Despite the fact that he knew this man was helping his brother, Dean was beyond courtesy.

The doctor didn't seem to take offense at his tone. "I know the situation looked pretty grim when you brought him in, but your brother pulled through the surgery. We'll need to keep an eye on him for a while, but his prognosis is good. Very good."

Dean felt shaky with relief. "Can I see him?"

"He's in Recovery and will soon be moved to the ICU. I can let you see him for just a few minutes."

When Dean entered the room to which the doctor had directed him, he had a vague idea of what to expect. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time he'd seen his brother in the hospital. "Dammit, Sam." He looked down at his brother. "I really hate this, you know that?"

He sighed, grasping the railing of his brother's bed. "The doc told me you were going to be okay. That better be true or I'll kick his ass." He peered down into Sam's face. "I don't suppose you wanna open your eyes and tell me not to be stupid. No. Guess not, huh?"

"Sir?" A voice from the doorway startled him. "You're going to have to leave now. Visiting hours are only a couple of hours away. You can come back then."

Dean nodded at the nurse as she left. "Well, they won't let me stay even though I want to and--and, well you know how I hate waiting so I'm going to go back and finish what we started. I'm not gonna let them hurt anyone else, Sammy."

The beeping of medical equipment met his declaration. The intrusion of the machines had Dean re-thinking his decision to leave. It felt like he was abandoning his brother, but he didn't have much choice. Dean still had a job to do and spending hours in the waiting room worrying wasn't going to accomplish anything.

With a deep sigh he headed for the door, turning to look at Sam. "Don't worry about a thing. Everything will be better when you wake up." Dean allowed himself one last look at his brother and left.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimers and notes in chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. There were a few things going on this week and it didn't leave enough time for posting. We're almost there so just bear with us! I hope you like this bit. Drop us a line. Feedback is always appreciated.

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Chapter 8

Awareness came to Sam slowly. The pain in his chest seemed dull and far away, but it was still there, and he wanted nothing more than to escape it completely. He wanted it dark, still, and silent. Like it had been. He wanted to rest, to sleep. He wanted to hide from the pain, and from everything lurking in the dark. Everything evil that had ever haunted him and his brother.

His brother . . . Dean.

Sam's eyes shot open. His breath hitched. Where was Dean? The room he was in was semi-dark and cold. White walls. Machines. The rapid beat of a heart monitor. He knew he was in a hospital almost instantly. These surroundings were all too familiar to him, but what was different was that he was alone.

All the details of their botched cleansing of the haunted rest stop came back to Sam. From the jokes they shared about the ridiculousness of this hunt, to the sudden way it had gone south real fast, he remembered it all.

And now the realization. The fact that he was alone. After just about every hunt that had gone wrong and landed him in a hospital, Sam had never been alone when he woke. Dean or Dad was always there. Someone had been there to reassure him, to comfort him, to let him know that everything would be okay, and more importantly, to Sam anyway, to let him know that they were okay.

But now, there was no one around. Hopeful, he called out, "Dean?" His voice was barely above a whisper. And no one heard it. No one came. He tried again, this time with as much vigor as he could manage, "Dean!"

Nothing.

Scenarios began to play out in his head. _What if Dean brought me here and went back to that rest stop alone? How long would he last against two vengeful spirits?_ He could be out there now without anyone to back him up. Or even worse, what if Dean never made it out of there alive? What if he wasn't the one that got Sam to this hospital? What if someone else had found Sam there still alive, with Dean having died to protect him? After everything, had he been the cause of his brother's death?

There was a sharp emptiness building inside Sam. All consuming, it blocked out any residual pain he was in. It overshadowed the fact that he'd nearly died, impaled by a piece of metal flung at him by an angry ghost. His only thought was that he needed to get up. Needed to find out what had happened, where Dean was. Someone was going to tell him. Either that or he would find Dean himself. The stubbornness of the Winchester men knew no bounds.

It never occurred to Sam's drug muddled brain that he could find a call button. The thought never crossed his mind -- the fact that the doctors had to do everything in their power to save him. And by moving around like he was doing, he could possibly mess up all their hard work.

He managed to pull out all the leads and needles like an old pro, given the fact that the Winchesters had all done this before to avoid either the hospital bill or the authorities. He gathered every ounce of strength he had and rolled himself off the bed. He was barely on his feet, his weight coming down on legs that were refusing to support him, when a voice stopped him.

"What the hell?" It was a young voice, but not Dean's. Standing in the doorway was an intern. Some guy with a clipboard. He actually dropped it to come to Sam's aid and catch him as he pitched forward.

Given the height difference though, Sam almost took the guy down with him. Almost. The young man was able to right them both before they hit the floor together. "I need some help in here!" he called out, trying to maneuver Sam back toward the bed.

A couple more people came to their aid. A nurse. An orderly. All these arms and hands were holding Sam, forcing him back into the bed. Checking him for further injury. One of them noted the blood on the front of his hospital gown. The wound had reopened.

Sam didn't care about any of that though. He just wanted up and out.

"I need some sedation in here!" the intern called out.

And before he knew anything else, before he could even get enough air in his battered lungs to have them cooperate, to let him talk, Sam felt the prick of a needle and was drifting off again. The sleep that had seemed like such a blessed reprieve earlier was an enemy now, and he fought against it with everything he had. It wasn't enough. The drugs overtook him. They were stronger than his will. Now, there was no comfort in the approaching darkness for Sam. Only a hollow feeling, a fear of not-knowing what had happened to his brother and a realization that when he woke again, things might never be the same for him.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimers and notes in part 1.

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews. Tate and I are really glad people are enjoying this story. We sure had fun writing it. We even did some of it at a haunted inn. We're hoping to do the sequel this summer in much the same way. Again, thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.

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Chapter 9

Dean didn't notice the blood on his hands until he reached for the duffle bag he'd abandoned by the picnic bench. Sam's blood. How could he have not seen that until now? He swallowed, wiping his hands on his jeans. But it was too late. The blood had dried.

He sat down on the bench, slumping forward. His bloodied hands were just a reminder of his failure. Hunts were not easy. Often, they resulted in injury. Dean couldn't count how many times the Winchester men had patched each other up over the years. This hunt, though, this one was different. No one should have gotten hurt. If he had maintained his usual vigilance, watched over his brother like he'd vowed then Sam's blood would not be on his hands.

_Hunting isn't a game, son. You have to stay focused or someone could get hurt. There's nothing funny about hunting_. His father's voice was as clear to him as if John Winchester were standing right in front of him.

"I know, Dad," Dean whispered, shattering the dead silence of the rest stop. "You're right. I shouldn't have been joking, but..." He fell forward to balance his elbows on his knees. "But sometimes it's the only way I can keep it together." He took a deep breath and straightened. "I promise I'll fix this. I'll take care of these ghosts and look after Sammy. I won't make the same mistake twice. I won't let anything happen to him." Dean knew that life didn't come with any guarantees, but he also knew that he would go above and beyond to fulfill this particular promise.

Dean looked at his hands again. Every time he looked at them, his stomach tightened and cramped. There was no way he could finish the job until he'd done something about the blood.

He stood and walked toward the restrooms. The women's restroom came into view first and he stumbled to a halt in front of it. Unconsciously, his hand went to his chest, fingers digging into the skin as his mind replayed the earlier events of the evening. Dread filled him as he took a step inside. It wasn't as if he wanted to ever see this place again, but he remembered that Sam had dropped his shotgun. His own gun had been lying on the ground near the parking lot and he'd secured it in the trunk of the Impala when he had first returned to the rest stop. Winchester Rule #3: Always clean up after yourselves, boys. Leave nothing behind.

He made quick work of washing and drying his hands. Most of the blood swirled down the drain. Unfortunately, the memory of it would become part of the patchwork he called failure...a collage that ambushed him in his dreams.

After a few moments, he picked up the shotgun. There was work to be done and it had to be done quickly. Leaving Sam had made him uneasy. He didn't want his brother waking up alone.

The duffle bag and shovel were where he had left them. As he bent to pick them up, he considered his options. There was still the problem of finding Kaytlon's bones to salt and burn them. To dig up the entire rest stop was inconceivable. Thinking about it, he could probably narrow down the area for his search even if he did not know an exact location.

Dean made his way around to the back of the rest stop and stopped short. Dropping his supplies at his feet, he rummaged through the duffle until he found the EMF detector. He flicked it on and cautiously approached the swing set.

The figure gently swaying back and forth in the swing looked at him with sad eyes. Dean looked from the boy to the detector. It didn't matter how real the boy looked. According to the EMF, he was a ghost.

"You shouldn't be here," Dean said, softly. "I salted and burned your bones. Why are you still here?"

The figure tilted his head. Dean shivered when an anguished stare landed on him. It was a moment of clarity for Dean. Love was a powerful thing. "Yeah, okay," he breathed, feeling his own heart clench. "I get it." Now, he just had to end it.

Dean didn't think the boy--Joshua, his mind supplied--was dangerous, but he wasn't going to take a chance. His underestimation of this hunt is what had gotten Sam into trouble in the first place. He reached for the shotgun and reloaded it with salt rounds.

He was just bringing the gun up when the ghost moved. Dean's muscles locked as he cocked the gun and aimed it at the apparition. But the boy wasn't coming toward him. Instead, Joshua moved a few feet away and...hovered. He held a hand out to Dean.

Dean frowned, but did not relinquish his stance. "What are you trying to tell me, Joshua?"

The ghost beckoned and then tilted his head down to look at the ground.

"That's where she is? That's where your sister is buried?" Nothing was ever that easy, but Dean held onto the hope that there was someone or something out there taking pity on him. He could use a break right about now.

Joshua looked back up at him.

"Got it." Dean nodded. "Thank you." His hands tightened on his weapon. "Sorry I've got to do this," he whispered. Normally, he had no trouble blowing away ghosts into oblivion, but this one was different. This one had helped him. This one was someone's little brother. "Sorry," he repeated and pulled the trigger.

The ghost dissipated and Dean was once again alone.

Dean dropped the gun and picked up the shovel. The sky was still dark, but he figured he didn't have much time before sunrise. Body aching more from the events of the evening than any actual injury, Dean gathered his strength and began to dig.

The hole was only a few feet deep and Dean hadn't found the girl's bones yet when a high-pitched scream rent the air. Dean's head snapped up and he scrambled out of the unmarked grave.

Dean scanned the area behind the rest stop, eyes wide as he tried to take in every detail. The swings began to jerk wildly back and forth as the wind kicked up, whistling around him and buffeting his body. He blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge some dirt that had flown into his eye. When his vision cleared, he saw the woman-shaped apparition coming toward him.

"Kaytlon!" he exclaimed, dropping the shovel. He took a few steps backward and fell to one knee. Without taking his eyes from the ghost, he fumbled behind him for his gun. "Shit, where is it?" He stretched back, hands grabbing at dirt, but still no weapon.

Another scream pierced the air.

"Chick, I wish you'd stop doing that. It's really getting on my nerves," Dean muttered. His fingers brushed the stock of his gun and he grinned in triumph. Then, "Oh, fuck." His own shovel was coming toward his face. With a yelp he was grateful no one was around to hear, he rolled away.

The shovel hit the ground with a heavy thump that left Dean's heart pounding in his chest. He gasped for breath and got to his knees. Kaytlon was drifting toward him and as he watched, Joshua materialized next to her.

"Fuck, I think I might be in trouble." Dean lunged for his gun. He hoped that if things went sour that Sam would forgive him.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Notes and disclaimers in part 1.

A/N: So it's done. Thanks to everyone who came along for the ride. Please feel free to leave feedback. We love it. Until next time...peace.

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Chapter 10

The drugs they had given Sam to keep him under had been strong, but the will of a Winchester was stronger. He woke hours before he should have. And this time, it took almost no time for him to recall what had happened to himself and Dean at the rest stop. More importantly, he remembered the fact that Dean was missing.

His eyes were hardly focused and his breath came in harsh and painful pants as he tried to lift himself off the hospital bed. But to his amazement, strong hands held him down. Gently, but firmly.

"Sam, no."

He lifted his gaze and met the concerned stare of his brother. Dean. He must have said the name aloud, but he couldn't hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears.

"Easy, just lie back." Dean propped some pillows up behind him, easing Sam against them.

_Am I awake or dreaming?_ Sam wasn't sure anymore. Maybe he hadn't woken up at all. Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, and he was only seeing what he wanted so desperately to see.

Dean continued talking, almost rambling. "I talked to your doctor. I can't believe you pulled that stunt earlier. You could have done some serious damage, Sammy. What were you thinking?"

It was then that Sam found his voice, even though it was still weak. "I thought you were dead." Mirage or not -- dead or not -- he was beginning to get seriously pissed off at his brother.

Dean shifted his gaze to the bed sheets, pulling them higher. Not meeting Sam's eyes again when he spoke. "Well, I'm not."

Sam was beginning to believe he was actually awake. The growing pain in his chest, and the annoying tone of his brother were starting to convince him. Surely if this was a Dream-Dean, he wouldn't be so exasperating. And of course he knew something else now. Gauging by Dean's behavior, he knew that Dean had been back to the rest stop.

"The spirits?" Sam asked. His strength was starting to return to him, but he still couldn't seem to manage more than a few words at a time.

"Ash." Dean replied shortly.

Yep, this was Dean. And although immense relief coursed through Sam, anger came with it. Dean had left him. He had gone back alone and faced two pissed off ghosts by himself. He could have been killed. And it would have been Sam's fault. Because he'd gotten himself hurt again, so he hadn't been there to watch Dean's back.

"How'd you do it?"

Dean met his eyes again. There was no mistaking the anger there, too, although Sam wasn't quite sure about the reason for it. "You want me to draw you a picture or what?"

It was Sam's turn to look away. This wasn't exactly the kind of reunion he'd hoped for. After all that they'd been through, arguing with Dean now wasn't on his list of things to do.

A hand on Sam's arm regained his attention. "Sam . . ." There was an apology in his brother's eyes, that didn't quite make it out of his mouth. Dean didn't have the knack for saying he was sorry. Sam had understood that about him a long time ago. He also knew Dean to be overly impulsive and daring to a fault. Sam shouldn't have been surprised that his brother had taken on two spirits by himself. But it still pissed him off. Dean wasn't invincible; he only thought he was.

"It's okay," Sam replied. "I get it."

"You get what?" The anger had faded from Dean's voice replaced by curiosity.

"You," was all Sam said, managing a half-smile. Dean wasn't ever going to change. That much Sam knew. And he knew he had to accept it too, even if he didn't always like Dean's methods.

"Right." He removed his hand from Sam's arm and brushed it through his own short hair.

"I get you had to go back there," Sam explained. "But you shouldn't have gone alone."

"I wasn't alone."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"The kid, Joshua, he showed me where his sister's body was buried," Dean said. He gripped the bedrail. "When I got back to the rest stop, he was sitting on the swing set. He looked like a normal kid. I had to use the EMF to make sure he was just a spook."

"But he wasn't just a spook. He helped you."

Dean nodded. "And you. If it wasn't for him, his sister wouldn't have let me get you to the car."

"The flash of light," Sam remembered. Everything was starting to make sense. Sam vocalized his theory. "The reason he'd stuck around after we'd salted and burned his bones was to help his sister find rest. It took a strong attachment for him to have stayed on this plane." Sam knew that almost all sprits whose bodies were salted and burned immediately faded from the place they were haunting. But some were anchored to a location by more than just their own bodies. "What was she attached to?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Her guilt," Dean said confidently. "She couldn't protect her brother when it mattered." Dean's tone was enough to convince Sam that he was talking about himself as much as he was Kaytlon. "They were both killed violently. She couldn't save him. He died and she couldn't stop it."

"Dean."

His brother looked away again. "I didn't protect you out there, Sammy. This whole fuckin' gig was a joke to me. I didn't get it until it was too late. By the time I got you here to the hospital, you were--you died."

Sam blinked. That part of the story he hadn't known. He was quick to reassure his brother though. "Dean, I'm fine."

"Sure you are." His brother sounded unconvinced, motioning to all the tubes and equipment circling Sam's bed.

"So how did it all end?" Sam said, trying to draw his brother's thoughts away from what had almost happened.

"What?"

"Kaytlon and Joshua."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat, Sam guessed, to get the emotion out of his voice. "It was still dark when I dug her up and burned her bones."

"She didn't try to stop you?"

"Well, she tried," Dean started, than sighed. "The wind picked up, stuff started flying around. I nearly got clocked by my own shovel."

"How did--?"

"The kid," Dean interrupted, "he kept anything from hitting me. Gave me enough time to salt and burn her remains. She appeared, took his hand, and then . . ." Dean made a motion with his hands indicating that they had disappeared.

On to a better place, Sam hoped. "So it's over."

Dean shrugged. "I picked up all the stuff we'd left and got the hell out of there just as the sun was coming up."

It was a new day, but somehow, all their mistakes seemed to linger in the air around them. The dark of the previous night not quite chased away by the light filtering through the white curtains of the hospital window. Sam knew that Dean bore the guilt of his injury, just as he held on to his own for not being there for Dean, helping him to dispatch two lost souls, for not watching his brother's back. Guilt seemed a common thread to the entire hunt. Hell, in the entire history of their family. And although there was no way to dispel the memory of the previous night, Sam couldn't help but try and give the moment a spark of normality. Their version of normality, at least.

Sam used his brother's familiar tactic, almost without thought. "So I guess the toilets are safe in Iowa again."

Dean's smile was weak, but it was still an attempt. "Guess so, little brother. I guess so."

THE END.


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